


Would you have me?

by insomniz



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically rewriting some scenes i would have liked to see, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fix-It, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pomeranian dog, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Roadtrip? Roadtrip., Violence, if someone tells me eddie didn't feel love for richie im going to go feral, no beta we die like women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 01:43:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20734190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniz/pseuds/insomniz
Summary: "We’re leaving this hell together or we’re not leaving at all.""Would you really have me, Rich? I don’t think you’d want that. I wouldn’t want that myself.""I’ll always have you, Eds.""Don’t call me Eds, asshole. But... Thank you, Richie."or Eddie lives to leave Derry with Richie, like they promised each other long ago.





	Would you have me?

**Author's Note:**

> bitch we're about to get soft in this chili tonight  
but also of course we're gonna go through some angst first  
i literally had to go to a library then a café to use their wifi and upload this shit cos, i'm poor  
but anyways hope you'll like this as much as i liked writing it  
btw go to my instagram @lespipous for some fresh reddie art

The first thought that comes back to him as he finally sees Derry’s welcome sign, barely visible in darkness, is: _And to say that all Eddie and I wanted to do when we were younger was to leave this hellhole of a town. _

To be truthful, this was mostly his idea. Eddie was always so hesitant, as if saying aloud that he wanted to leave his mother to finally grow up could jinx it, or that his mother would have heard it. They would have driven for hours, maybe days, without ever turning back to see the town’s old sign. They would be together, as they always were when they were kids. Glued together since the time they met.

And to say that he didn’t even remember Eddie a few hours ago.

His name was the first that had escaped Richie’s lips - after a ‘Mike who?’ on the phone - and since then it hadn’t escaped his mind. The thing bugging him was that he couldn’t even put a face on him anymore - or on any of his friends - and it drives him fucking crazy; Eddie was merely a feeling and a name brought together. No memories of him left, no flashes of time spent together. Just the certainty that he was -_ is_ \- important to Rich. And the feeling associated to his name is soft, incredibly so: it feels good to say his name or even to think it. He feels an unprompted smile creep on his lips when he thinks _eds_ and that his brain replies with a stranger’s voice:_ Don’t call me that! You know i hate it!_

Those are the only things he remembers about Eddie. It’s better than nothing, and nothing is pretty much what he remembers from his past, except from It and the Losers’ Club.

It’s as his car goes past the old sign that he realizes that amnesia was comfortable. His brain hurts from trying to remember things. His hand hurts too, as if he were rubbing an old wound with salt. An old scar that hasn’t fully healed yet.

Suddenly, he’s got a foot on the brakes because something is crossing the road. A doe, that stops in the middle of the highway. Thankfully, Richie’s car is the only one passing by, so he comes to a full stop as to avoid hitting it.

The doe won’t move. Richie then understands that it’s looking at him, waiting for something to happen. He should probably honk to make it go away, or shout, or do something other than just staying frozen in his car, stopped in the middle of the road. But there’s something so captivating, so unusual about this.

The doe won’t move. As if it was... Caught in deadlights. _Ah._

This makes him think of Bev, and he can’t seem to grasp why exactly. The words do, but not the doe itself. No, the doe makes him think of Eddie, for some fucking reason.

Maybe because the doe is staring at him like no one ever did in 27 fucking years, like it’s seeing him for real, not just sparing a passing glance on him. Richie is fourty something and is almost moved to tears because no one really saw him since he moved from Derry. It’s all about being seen, in the end: making noise, blabbering too quickly for anyone to really understand what he’s saying, playing the trashmouth’s part. Attention. All of this for people to see him, but maybe not the real version of him. Was there ever a real version of Richie? He can’t be sure, especially when his entire past is coming back to him bits by bits.

And now the eyes of - _Eddie_ \- of a doe are on him, big, black, intense, and he can’t breathe. It’s staring into his soul, questioning him, and finally Richie remembers Eddie’s face, because he had that same fucking look when he stared at him. Innocent, interrogative, trusting.

A tear rolls on Richie’s right cheek and the doe finally moves, disappearing into the darkness of the night, leaving the deadlights of his car. 

* * *

Edie Kaspbrak throws his wedding ring in the gutter before he even arrives at the restaurant and a smug stranger’s voice whispers in his brain: _Way to go, Eddie spaghetti,_ to which he responds to go fuck himself.

The ring burned his finger like every time he thought about a ghost love that never was Myra. Thinking about her feels wrong; he almost wished it was her he had forgotten about. He doesn’t love her like one should love his wife, he knows it. It’s more something of a pity, or a sympathy, but there’s no real love, affection for her. He longed to know what he would feel when he’d finally be brave enough to take it off for good.

He wonders if the others are married too. They probably are. They haven’t seen each other for 27 years, they have had their own lives, and Eddie only remembered their existences moments ago.

Yet he feels as if some things were never really forgotten. Ghosts followed him even when he eventually left Derry with his mom. For example, the name Richie Tozier intrigued him when he saw it on TV, and when Myra whined that she didn’t like this comedian, Eddie couldn’t explain precisely why he wanted to watch his shows, even if most of his jokes weren’t funny. He would only shrug and wait for her to leave the room to put on his shows, surprised when he would chuckle sometimes at his voices.

_Charming, that guy,_ he even thought once, before putting this thought to sleep, as he did so frequently when thoughts were overwhelming. But now everything is coming back to him, everything has a sense. And as stressed as he was to come back to Derry, it’s joy that now overwhelms him. The faces he sees are familiar and it makes his heart pump with pride. Bill, and Mike. Gosh, they haven’t changed a bit. He’s proud to recognize them. But his heart stutters with a question, _Richie? _

The answer to his question bangs a fucking gong, and when he exclaims that the Losers’ Club reunion has officially begun, Eddie intimately knows that he’s going to have to get tipsy, if not drunk tonight.

Which he quickly is; he never did handle alcohol. He curses a lot, bickers with Richie, at one moment he even says ‘bro’. He has a dumb grin plastered on his face as he listens to him shit on his marriage - or admit he’s still single, but Eddie tries not to blush too much when he hears this particular piece of information. Turns out only him and Bev are married out of the group.

But Eddie is far from blind. From the corner of his eye, he sees the marks, the scars on her forearms, and winces at this sight. He sees Ben’s pining, the loving gaze he casts in Bev’s direction, he sees the shadow of a ring that Bev probably threw away not so long before. Their gazes meet in the middle, and she smiles to him, softly. She was always so understanding, like a big sister, and he was always the one who looked out for others, and even him knows this very fact. Beverly’s still smiling as she points to Richie ever so slightly with a movement from her chin.

And he realizes he’s been staring quite a lot at him before turning to Bev. In fact, he can’t stop looking at Richie for too long. As if he’s taking in the sight of his hair, of his stubble, of his eyes behind his glasses. He doesn’t quite understand why, or maybe he does, deep down, but is still putting that thought to sleep.

_I missed him,_ is what he allows himself to think in the end, and it’s the simplest and closest to the truth. Because with the Losers, and especially with Rich, he can allow himself to be the closest to a true version of himself. He doesn’t feel ashamed about being a Loser. It may appear weird, given how the two of them bicker and fight and insult each other, but it’s a pattern as old as them. Their relationship always seemed weird to others anyway. It feels like they’re kids again, bickering about who has the right to have the hammock now, whose turn it is to read the comics, if Eddie’s allergies are a product of WebMD or not.

But whenever they touch, it feels like Eddie’s hands are burning on Richie’s skin with a fire that feels good and bad at the same time. _I don’t wanna see you with this boy, Eddie Bear, I don’t trust him one bit and he’s probably covered in bacteria and he’s a bad influence on you and he’s a_

He shakes slightly his head to make the voice of his mother disappear. Eddie’s still a slave to his mother’s ghost, years after she passed; he can’t do anything in life without hearing her voice in his ear, tormenting him and scolding him and making feel weak.

"Where’s your ring?"

He comes back to Earth as Richie points discretely - which is a goddamn first, because Richard Tozier doesn’t know the first thing about being discrete - to his finger.

"What?"

"You said you were married, but you don’t even wear a ring. What’s the truth?"

"None of your business, Richie." It is, it’s all of his business, to be honest. But Eddie won’t ever admit it to himself.

"No need to get so defensive, Eds. Just noticing, ‘s all."

"Don’t call me Eds. And I threw it, if that’s of any interest to you."

"Oh." There’s surprise in the way Richie’s mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ and shuts his big mouth, for once. "Why?"

_‘Cause I knew I’d see you _

"’Cause I knew I’d see you guys."

And Richie seems to settle on that last sentence, nodding without a word, sipping his drink, absorbed in his thoughts.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Eddie hears two soft knocks on the door of his hotel room. He could have been startled easily, especially after everything that happened to them, but he isn’t, because he knows exactly whose knocks these are.

Richie’s standing in front of his door, patient, but not exactly at ease. As if Eddie could have refused to open his door to him, but that’s absurd.

"Can’t sleep either?" Richie asks.

Eddie studies Richie’s face, and suddenly he notices the years in the bags under his eyes, the small wrinkles on his brow. And it hits him that Richie’s not 13 years old anymore, even if his behaviour in the restaurant hinted at it.

It’s tragic, in a way. Terribly unfair. Something was robbed. Eddie thinks of all the years that he missed, thinks that he could have known Richie through teenage years, could have seen him grow into an adult, could have seen time affect him. He aged during those 27 years, they all aged, and since they learned Stan’s death, something changed in Richie; he seems to have let down his guard, show himself in all his fear to have come back.

Oh, how Eddie understands him. That’s why he replies: "Come in."

Richie doesn’t let Eddie say it twice and follows him inside his room.

They’re both in their pyjamas and it’s something like 2 am, but neither of them will get a good night’s sleep tonight. Despite this, Eddie already feels tired. He thinks of leaving Derry tomorrow. Leaving, yes, but not going home. He can’t. He can’t go home to Myra.

Is there only a home waiting for him? Sure, all of his things are in Manhattan, but the idea of going back there is unsettling him at the core. He knows Richie’s going to leave Derry too, and he wants to tell him "I don’t want to forget you again when I just began remembering you". Instead he stays silent and waits for Richie to talk once they’re both seated on his bed.

"You remember him?"

"Just some things."

"Yeah, same for me", Richie whispers, staring at the window. "He loved birds."

"And birds loved him too", Eddie adds, barely smiling. "He knew each and every name and species."

"What a bird nerd." They chuckle, and their eyes are a bit wet. Remembering Stan does hurt, and Eddie knows it hurts Richie too, the way his voice sounds constricted, wavering, even. Stan was his best friend. In the restaurant, he still cracked some jokes. But now, in the middle of the night, in his slippers and pyjamas, grief taints his eyes, and Eddie’s a bit surprised. He could have gone to see Bev and smoke a cigarette with her, as he usually did when something was on his mind. But tonight, he came to him.

There’s something unsaid. A question hanging in the air, between the two of them. _Rich, why didn’t we keep contact after we left Derry?_ Eddie doesn’t even remember how he said goodbye.

A memory resurfaces, _Richie crying on his shoulder._ Why is he crying? Richie doesn’t cry in front of others._ But he is, ‘cause he can only cry on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie’s rubbing his back and speaking in a soothing tone. Saying sweet nothings in his ear._ Maybe he should do that right now. But Richie has already rubbed his cheeks and eyed Eddie’s pyjamas.

"You kinda looks ridiculous in this."

"You’re one to talk. It’s 2 AM, asshole, of course I’m gonna be in my pyjamas."

"I mean, are these your mom’s? Cause I swear I can smell her just like when we used to-"

Eddie throws a meaningless punch in his shoulder, not even hurting him one bit. He’s smiling, not even telling him to stop.

"So, watch my shows much?"

"Uh?" Eddie’s taken aback by Richie for what seems to be the twentieth time tonight. Or maybe he’s too drunk. But the cookies really helped him sober up. And also discovering Stan was dead. Yeah, that too.

"My shows. You said you knew I didn’t write some of my jokes."

"All of your jokes. They’re not yours, Rich, I could tell."

He stops, eyes on the wall next to the window. He doesn’t see Richie but can feel his interrogative gaze on him.

"I mean, I don’t know how I could tell, since I didn’t even remember you back then."

He turns to face Richie, who’s still seated on the bed beside him.

"But yeah, I watched your shows. And something in me, something really deep down, was drawn to watch you on TV. I still don’t know how or why, because frankly, your shows were shit."

"Hey!" Richie protests, but Eddie cuts him off:

"They could have been way better, if only you wrote your own material. Becoming a famous comedian was your fucking dream. What happened to the Richie I knew?"

Richie is gaping at him as if his words were the sharpest, or the softest ever. And he doesn’t seem to know the answer himself. _It’s okay_, Eddie wants to reassure him,_ I don’t even know what happened to the Eddie I once was._

"So what you’re saying is... I was funny in my youth?" Richie finally gathers, a smile blossoming on his lips.

_Damn you, Trashmouth._

"Wha- No, you idiot, that’s not-"

"Oh you totally said it. I knew you always found me funny, Eds!" He then pinches his cheek, and Eddie bats away his hand, blushing furiously.

"Don’t do that and don’t ever call me Eds. You know I absolutely fucking hate it."

"Nah, I’m sure you missed it."

What he missed or not is a difficult thing to talk about, because Eddie feels like a blind man in a labyrinth, fumbling around in darkness, groping and struggling, but sometimes recognizing familiar paths. Richie is still a mix of contradictory and complex feelings, memories that shove themselves in his head. Images that hustle behind his eyes, words shouted in his ears or whispered to his jaw, and it’s overwhelming.

Will he remember everything? There’s no saying he’ll ever do completely. And remembering brings him down a hard path, because those memories depict an Eddie he had left behind. And there’s still It, that looms like an omnipresent threat, and suddenly he’s left his hotel room and he’s back years 27 years before. He’s walking fast down Neibolt Street because he’s got goosebumps and because he can’t run if he runs then his mom will know she always knows what he does and he can’t run because he’s delicate and he has asthma and _He can run just fine Mrs. Kaspbrak this boy just wants to run with the other kids why won’t you let him run_

And he doesn’t want to look at that creepy house’s window, but at the same time he wants to give in to his curiosity and suddenly his pills are on the floor and _a dime for overtime_

_ Com’on little boy I’ll do you for free _

_Oh god he’s sick he’s a_

Richie’s hands are on his, his face close to his, too close, and when exactly did he move like that? Eddie obviously blacked out during their conversation. He can’t help but jump back at the contact. Unconsciously, he has begun hyperventilating, and unconsciously he’s looking for an inhaler in his pockets. Richie stops him before he can get it to his mouth.

"Hey, hey, Eddie. You don’t need that, remember? It’s just a panic attack."

What?

"What? Of course... I do. I have... I have asthma, dumbass", he responds, his breath hitching in his throat.

"No you don’t. You... You told me it was only a placebo, a long time ago".

Richie looks like he just remembered that by seeing Eddie breathe with difficulty. His eyes are wide behind his big glasses, but not as wide as Eddie’s.

"I didn’t- I don’t..." Eddie’s drowning. His brain is swarming with intrusive thoughts. Confused, so confused, but it also feels like he knew it all along. _Mommy, is it true what Mr. Keene said? Eddie Bear I had to protect you please understand I had to_

He tries to gulp a breath in, but it’s worse and it’s so fucking hard to breathe, but Richie’s here, rubbing circles in the back of his hand, waiting for him to breathe.

In, and out. Slowly. He focuses on Richie’s way of doing it. In, and out.

After some time, the panic attack subsides and he’s left exhausted, leaning slightly on Richie. It’s not the first time Richie has seen in such a state, he can tell. This is not awkward. Their calm breaths is the only thing that can be heard in Eddie’s room. Strangely, he feels... At home in this hotel room. Not in this place, but with the person next to him. Feels at home with Richie. The link between them is similar to that pact he Losers’ Club had, a long time ago.

_We’re leaving this hell together or we’re not leaving at all. _

_Would you really have me, Rich? I don’t think you’d want that. I wouldn’t want that myself. _

_I’ll always have you, Eds. _

_Don’t call me Eds, asshole. But... Thank you, Richie._

He already felt at home when they were almost all here, together in the restaurant. But now, he understands why exactly. He could very well fall asleep against his chest, but Richie’s leaving his room before he can even thank him. Eddie would love to tell him to stay for the night, but he’s so tired he doesn’t have the time to open his mouth before he slips into a dreamless slumber, with a single question on his mind:_ Would he still have me, even after all this time?_

* * *

Is Richie sleeping? Hard thing to say. It seems a nightmare, and he doesn’t remember falling asleep. He remembers shouting and cursing, then a bright light. No, three bright lights. He doesn’t even register that those are the Deadlights before he’s out, just like that, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, starting to float above the ground.

_You’ll float too!_

It’s more or less like slipping into a coma, leaving consciousness to join a personal hell. This one’s pretty weird, but it’s Richie’s, so it maybe explains a lot of things.

What he sees in the Deadlights is the quarry where they used to jump and swim when they were kids.

It doesn’t feel like a dream, it feels extremely real because Richie feels the water on his jeans, he feels the cold seep into his bones. He sees himself. As if the Richie that observes this scene didn’t exist at all. He’s alone in the quarry, crouching in the water, holding his glasses. Richie’s close enough to see the crack in them. There’s a bit of blood on them, and a lot of blood on his clothes. It taints the already dirty waters of the quarry with a dark red. But Richie doesn’t seem to be hurt.

_Where are the others? Where is Eddie?_

The waters have become bloody red, like the waters of Egypt during the Plagues. They smell like blood, too, a bitter and metallic scent. They smell like death. It feels real, too real, too wrong, and Richie wishes he could go to his other self, shake him from his strange state of transe, just looking at his cracked glasses.

But he cannot move. He’s like that doe caught in the deadlights of his car. _Ah._

"BEEP BEEP MOTHERFUCKER!"

These simple words break time and space. They’re not from the Quarry, but from... Another dimension, maybe?

The Quarry disappears, Richie falls into the red waters or through the air, he isn’t actually sure. But his dream comes to an end, of that he’s sure. Because his back encounters the floor violently, and he’s pretty sure that fall is going to bite him in the ass later, because it hurt like a son of a bitch.

There’s a lot of noise, but Richie Tozier doesn’t hear a thing. It’s like he’s underwater. But one thing is certain: Eddie’s saying his name. His hands are on his jacket, shaking him awake.

Maybe he was dreaming after all, but he’s glad to have woken up to such a beautiful sight. Eddie may be covered in grime and dirt, but he’s the most beautiful thing Richie has ever seen in his life in this precise moment. He has to blink several times, consciousness doesn’t come back to him in a flash.

"-chie! Richie, listen!"

He’s on top of him, and only now does Richie understand that he was potentially floating, about to get eaten by a fucking clown entity, and that the words were Eddie’s. Eddie saved him.

"I think I killed It! I think I did!"

Richie can’t even begin to grasp the sense of his words. But suddenly, Eddie cuts his sentence short, as if frozen in time. His face is as pale as the moon, stuck into an expression of shock.

There’s blood splattered on Richie’s clothes, but his confused mind says it’s because of the Quarry’s bloody waters. There’s a spear-like claw in Eddie’s abdomen, but his confused mind says it’s just part of the Deadlights’ nightmare. There are heart-wrenching screams sounding like they’re very far away yet so close, but his confused mind says it’s just the ghosts in his head. He’s going to wake up any minute now and Eddie will be fine.

But when Eddie lets out a strangled question, ‘Richie?’, he realizes that this is painfully real. He can only whimper his name back to him, like a plea for all of this to stop, to go back to normal. Eddie can’t even finish to say his name again before he’s snatched from Richie’s embrace, teared away by It, tossed like a doll. And Richie can’t fathom what’s happening.

Mere seconds ago he was in the Quarry, with a funny feeling in his guts, a premonition, _Where’s Eddie?_ Well, he was just thrown away in the cavern, disappearing with a moan of pain. Richie doesn’t even know how his legs still support his weight when he breaks into a sprint, screaming Eddie’s name.

Hasn’t he been saying Eddie’s name more than anyone else’s name for most of his life when he was in Derry? Even in blissful amnesia, sometimes Richie’s pretty sure he’d turn around when he heard someone call for Edward, as if he was going to recognize the person. _But I don’t know any Edward.._. he would think, shrugging. The name followed him anyways, throughout his life away from Derry. Or maybe he was the one following it.

His eyes fall on the gaping wound on Eddie’s chest, bleeding profusely and leaving a dark stain on his already dirty white shirt. His heart stops in his own chest, or maybe it breaks, but Richie feels suddenly very empty. There’s only one thing to do when he feels that empty, a thing he’s been doing all of his life: begin talking.

"It l-looks pretty bad, we should g-get him out guys..." he stammers like Stuttering Bill while applying some pression to it with his leather jacket. He knows it’s not as good as a cotton cloth, but fuck that. Fuck everything. Richie’s ready to do anything to make things better.

"How are we supposed to do that, Richie?" Bev’s tone betrays her desperation, but Richie doesn’t want Eddie to read that in his voice. He probably already knows. There’s a sad look in his semi-closed eyes.

He talks about the Leper, about killing It, but Richie can’t focus on anything else than the way his voice is already nothing more than a raspy whisper. The raspy whisper gets a little louder, whimpers of pain, when Ben and him help Eddie up, throwing his arms around their shoulders and guiding him outside the cavern to another rock where he can lean in. All the way, Richie whispers sweet nothings, meaningless sweet nothings about how he already got the clown fucker real good, about how he’s going to be just fine once they get him out of here. Eddie huffs out a laugh, like he doesn’t believe in it but wants to please Richie.

Ben’s quiet, except for a breath hitched in his throat which resembles a lament. Richie only puts more pressure on the wound, making Eddie hiss in pain. Rich winces, but can’t stop, even though the bleeding probably goes on in his back. He can’t let Eddie bleed out in the dark.

"Richie... I have to tell you something."

Eddie coughs, and blood stains the corner of his mouth. Deep down, Richie knows this is not a fucking good sign. But nothing’s a good sign when he glances at the paleness of his face, the effort he’s obviously making not to sound too much in pain or to keep his eyes open and focused on Richie. But the ‘coughing-blood’ really signs it.

_He’s going to die,_ the rational voice in Richie’s head says, implacable.

_He’s not going to_, another voice, desperate, screams, barely covering the first one. _He’s strong, he’s brave, he’ll make it, I know he will. _

"Yeah, what is it?" His voice is trembling.

"I-" _No. No. If he says it, then it means it will be the last time-_

"I fucked your mom."

And this idiot laughs, ending on a coughing fit. The claw probably punctured a lung, the way he wheezes afterwards, his breathing a shrill whistling noise. He’s exerting himself too much and getting weaker and weaker as time passes.

Ben disappears to go help the others or to leave them some privacy. Richie feels the tears in his throat, threatening to flow any minute now. But he’s holding on, applying pressure as if this was going to magically repair the hole in Eddie’s chest.

Suddenly, someone’s holding his wrist. Well, barely holding it, more like touching it with enough force to be actually felt. Eddie’s looking at him with his big interrogative eyes, his hand on his wrist.

"You should go too, Rich. They need you."

"Don’t be stupid. You need me, Spaghetti." He keeps a steady voice for now, forces himself to be calm and reassuring but it’s bullshit. It sounds nothing like him and he knows it’s seconds away from cracking just like when he called Eddie him minutes ago. Humor, humor has always been an anchor in desperation.

_And I need you to stay with me_ goes unsaid. It’s not so much about Richie leaving, and they both know it.

"I’ll be... Fine." Speaking looks like it’s becoming difficult, and Eddie’s insisting, so Richie draws a hand to his cheek, caressing it with his thumb as if it were the most precious thing he could land his eyes upon.

It reminds him of that time, in the house on Neibolt Street. Faintly, he remembers holding Eddie’s face to make him look at him, only him. Eddie smiles gently and it makes his eyes crinkle. It gives them a wavering light, a candle’s flame to which Richie latches on.

"I’ll be right back. You’ll wait for me, right?"

"I mean, it’s not like... I can go very far."

He could, and that’s what scares Richie the most. He gets up, looks one last time at Eddie and runs.

_We’re leaving together, or we’re not leaving at all, don’t you forget it, Eds._

When he runs back to Eddie, he sees him still clutching his leather jacket. He almost falls to his knees in front of him. There’s relief in the way he touches Eddie’s cheek again.

"We did it, Eddie. We got Pennywise!"

Eddie’s mouth twitches in what resembles a smile. He doesn’t reply, but begins to tremble slightly under his arms. He’s going into shock.

Behind him, he hears Bill stifle a sob, full of grief and ache.

"Woah woah Eds no don’t do that please stay with me okay?"

Eddie huffs out a breath that was probably meant to be a chuckle, and he lets out:

"Richie..." His voice is strained, and Richie’s grip tightens on him. "Don’t... call me Eds, you know I..."

His head lolls a bit, and his eyes flutter. The ghost of a smile remains on his lips, though. Richie gives him a little slap on the cheek, but he just blinks slowly. He’s gone really fucking pale, he can’t look at Richie and his cheeks feel cold.

"You just hold on, okay? We’re gonna get you to a hospital."

Richie finds out that he can’t lift Eddie on his own, even with all of his will to do so. His legs wobble from weakness and shock, and Eddie can’t stay on his own legs for the same reasons, he can barely stay conscious. But Ben and Mike are here, thank God. Once they got him, they begin running as chaos erupts.

Chaos erupts in Richie’s chest, too, because he can’t keep Eddie close and be sure he’s still -_ alive_ \- awake. So he just runs, and when they’re out, he grabs him, fumbles, looking for a pulse. He’s a mess, a goddamn mess, and Mike has to help him find it.

It’s faint, but it’s there. Richie wants to bargain anything he has if that pulse can just be under his fingers forever. If Eddie can just hold on for the ambulance to arrive._ I’ll go piss on Bower’s grave. I’ll stop with the mom jokes. I’ll write my own material. But please let me have him._

* * *

"Richie."

It’s so goddamn soft, the way Bev says it. Her voice always had the soothing warmth a sister’s voice has, especially now she’s an adult. Richie Tozier never had an actual sister, or even a brother, but he knows it as a fact.

"Richie, honey, come with me."

He doesn’t want to. He wants to stay here forever to wait. Because what if Eddie wakes up and he’s not there for him? What if he has to say goodbye and he’s not there for him? What if the doctors come to tell him it’s over and he’s not there for him? What if-

"You’ll feel better, I promise." How could he? How could he possibly feel better?

Richie’s pretty sure he’s hit rock bottom. He probably reeks, is still covered in Eddie’s blood, is tense on this uncomfortable waiting room chair, has had multiple breakdowns in his friends’ arms on the way of the hospital, and won’t stop being startled at every nurse coming into the waiting room.

He raises his eyes to Bev. She’s looking at him with a patience that almost brings him to tears again. She won’t force him. She looks like she’s sure it’s better if he comes with her just for a bit, and the gentle smile on her lips seems to say ‘You wouldn’t want him to wake up to a grimy, bacteria-ridden, filthy Richie, right?’

If he could, Richie would reply that he always felt immensely filthy.

"Okay."

Even if it’s only to satisfy her and not keep her waiting, he gets up slowly and follows her.

A strange ritual begins once they’re alone in the hospital’s bathroom. Bev washes his face with some wet toilet paper, but also with a delicate thoughtfulness. He lets her. Her and the others already went to the bathroom to get clean, and Ben even went back to the hotel to grab some things. Mostly Eddie’s things, in case he wakes up tonight. It’s very unlikely, but the others try to keep their optimism for Richie. He’s not completely blind, despite what his glasses might suggest.

Glasses that are cracked, by the way. Beverly takes them off his nose and puts them in the sink. There’s blood on them. Richie’s not sure if it’s Eddie’s, or his own.

"Here we are. It’s enough for now, but you’ll have to take a shower tomorrow."

Richie feels like this happened before, Beverly wiping the blood and the sorrow off his face. It’s highly probable; Richie couldn’t spend a month without getting his ass handed to him by Bowers and his gang, all of this because of his trashmouth and also because of something else.

_Bev am I... Am I disgusting? _

_Uh Rich, you’ve got mud and blood in your hair dude so I guess- _

_No I mean, do you think. Do you think I’m disgusting? _

_... Why would you say that, Richie? You’re not disgusting. _

_I am I’m disgusting I’m just a little_

_He chokes on the word, can’t get it out, and is painfully aware of Bev’s silent staring. _

_They’re in the school’s toilet, alone, but he constantly feels like there are eyes on him. And that the walls could have ears. Could hear him admitting it. _

_Beverly cares even less than Richie if a boy comes in and sees her in the guys’ bathroom; she’s the most audacious and bravest girl Richie has ever encountered. But Richie doesn’t really know many girls, especially girls with freckles. _

_Richie likes freckles on anyone, really. Eddie has some on his nose and cheeks, and when Richie pinches them he really does think it’s ‘cute, cute, cute’. He’s not just saying it to annoy Eds. Okay, maybe a little bit. _

_Thinking of Eddie’s aunts pinching his cheeks and calling cute the way he does makes him laugh, and Beverly looks at him funny. _

_You’re so weird, Richie Tozier. _

_You have no idea, baby. _

_Then he begins crying and he thinks oh that’s embarrassing, she’s definitely going to tell the others that i cried in front of her, but at the same time he knows it would be absurd because their relationship is something special. Bev would never tell the others Richie’s secrets, and Richie would never tell Bev’s secrets. _

_So he gets it out. _

_And Bev listens._

"Are you serious?"

Beverly Marsh hasn’t changed a bit. The spark of rebellion and audacity in her firy eyes is still there. No wonder Ben’s totally head over heels for her.

"What. Are you really gonna tell me off for smoking, Richie Tozier?"

"We’re in the fucking hospital."

"Beep beep, Rich."

"Aren’t there fire alarms, anyway?" _Oh god, he realizes. I’m talking like Eddie._

"Not in the toilets there aren’t. So, you’re gonna watch me smoking or actually do something?"

Richie smiles for the first time since Eddie got skewered and accepts the cigarette Beverly’s offering him from the tips of her delicate fingers. The first huff feels desperately good. Richie hadn’t smoked since he got to Derry. Maybe being with Eddie prevented him to do it. Bev has smoked way more than he remembers since she arrived in Derry, it seems.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks, because he doesn’t want this question to be asked to him about Eddie, and Beverly immediately knows what he’s talking about, rubbing at the skin on her forearms.

"No. It’s over anyway."

"Okay."

There’s a short silence, full of grey smoke and memories. They’re not 17 anymore, but it sure feels like it. Hanging together to smoke in the toilets, talking absent-mindedly about serious things. Sharing their fears about the past, the present and the future. Bitching about the popular girls and boys of high school, being Losers. The Loser’s Club didn’t care about anything, at that age, apart from each other.

"Do you remember when Eddie walked in on us practicing kissing?"

Richie slowly nods. God, that was something. The look on Eddie’s flushing face was similar to the look a teen would have when walking in on his parents fucking. And all Richie couls get out of his trashmouth was: "Wanna try too, Eds?"

That kiss had learnt him two things, that day: one, he was not into Beverly, and she was not into him. They both already knew that before the kiss, but just wanted to practice and thought it would be fun. That didn’t mean he was not into girls as a whole; just not into Bev.

Two: the idea of trying with Eds, suggested as a joke, was not entirely thought as a joke. In fact, Richie secretely hoped for Eds to just shrug and say: «Ok, let’s give it a shot», even if this was more than unlikely.

He chuckles, thinking of young Eddie blushing furiously and fleeing the crime scene without a single word.

Richie doesn’t know if Beverly’s blurry because he doesn’t have his glasses or because of the tears in his eyes. Either way, he lets his chin fall, teeth chattering with the silent sobs that wrack his entire system. The cigarette falls on the bathroom's floor.

"Oh Richie, honey." She doesn’t give him false promises, false reassurances; she knows he doesn’t need that. He just needs to be held together by strong arms before he collapses and breaks into a million pieces on the bathroom’s floor.

"He can’t- Bev, if he-"

She agrees, pressing Richie against her and nodding, even if he can’t see it. Eddie can’t die. She sends a quiet prayer to him, asking him not to do anything stupid and die on them. _‘Cause if you do, I don’t think Richie will ever be the same._

* * *

He’s swimming into white, guided by disorganized thoughts about a clown, about a boy with glasses, about friends that scream his name.

Maybe if he just closed his eyes and fell asleep, maybe then things would be better. Because right now, things are pretty awful. Pain is omnipresent. It pierces his chest, and static noise is overwhelming his ears. ‘Stay with us’, an unknown voice tells him multiple times. He’d like to reply ‘oh i’d love to, but i’m not sure i can’. He navigates through stages of consciousness and fainting and his hand is looking for Richie. But then a needle is piercing his arm and this time, it’s not pain but darkness that overflows his veins. He drowns in black.

When he comes back, he sees white again, but just for what seems to be milli-seconds. The ceiling is white with a lights that blinds him and forces him to immediately blink. He hears someone hushing him in a gentle voice, that’s when he realizes he must have been moaning in pain. Because pain is back with consciousness. God, his chest hurts. He barely has time to acknowledge the fact that it’s tightly wrapped in bandages before he goes under again.

The third time is the right time. Eddie knows it once he fully opens his eyes, or rather, keeps them semi-closed for more than two seconds. Saying he’s at a loss is a serious understatement. It takes him several seconds to understand where exactly he is, to remember what happened. The rythm of a beep to his left informs him he’s in a hospital room. That’s when it hits him, all at once:_ the terrifying battle against It, ‘You’re braver than you think’, Richie floating towards the deadlights, the agonizing pain in his abdomen, Richie’s heartbreaking panicked blabbering, ‘You know I_

Eddie takes a breath and it immediately awakens the flare in his chest, but it feels like it’s diminished, somehow. It must be the fuck ton of painkillers they’ve given him, he thinks, eyeing the IV in his arm, and the other tubes everywhere on him. He would freak out a bit if he wasn’t so tired and weak.

There’s also Richie, snoring softly in his arm, bent on the mattress. He’s holding his hand, or rather, covering it with his own big palm, but he’s sleeping alright. Sleeping with his glasses on, which marks the bridge of his nose and his temples. This doesn’t exactly look like a comfortable position. Eddie takes in his sight. It’s probably the most relieving thing he could have wished to wake up to; not knowing if Richie and the others were alright was one of the thoughts that occurred to him the most in his drugged sleep.

Ben and Bev are here too, sleeping on each others’ shoulders, on the other side of his bed, as if they were staying to babysit Richie but fell alseep too. This, too, doesn’t look comfortable.

Eddie presses back Richie’s hand, with as much force as he can, which means not that much. But it’s apparently enough to wake Richie up with a jolt.

The first things Richie articulates is very poetic, very Richard Tozier; he just exclaims ‘Fuck’, which makes Ben startle awake too. Bev’s still snoring on his shoulder, looking really tired.

"Yeah, hello to you too", Eddie whispers, because his voice is nothing more than a raspy whisper.

Richie doesn’t reply for some time. He seems frozen, looking at Eddie as if he weren’t real. He kinda looks like a kid having walked in on Santa Claus putting presents under a Christmas Tree.

"Eddie..." Ben finally breaks the silence. "Good to see you awake, buddy." This makes Bev rub at her eyes. When she sees Eddie, a grin blossoms on her lips.

"Is everyone okay?" He can’t see Bill or Mike and immediately assumes the worst happened when he was sleeping.

"Everybody’s fine. Bill and Mike just went to grab coffees."

Eddie sighs and sags a bit against the pillow. He’s still holding Richie’s hand, but if he weren’t, it would be as if he wasn’t there. He still hasn’t said anything else than ‘Fuck’. Something might be wrong. Beverly suggests that they give Eddie and Richie some privacy, but Eddie barely hears her or notices that she and Ben left the room. He’s gazing at Richie, who’s staring very intensely at his hand.

"Richie. Is everything alright?"

Fuck, it hurts his throat to talk. But it definitely hurts less than seeing Richie like that. He looks... broken. Internally, Eddie wishes he would respond something very Richie-like, a _‘Peachy keen, Eddie bean’, or just say something, get out of this trance_

"I thought... We thought you wouldn’t make it. The doctors said it was really fucking close, that you flatlined during the first operation and that they had to bring you back, and then we waited and waited and I have never been so scared in my life-"

_Oh, there it is._

"I’m here, Rich. Look at me."

He raises his head and Eddie discovers tears in Richie’s eyes, behind his cracked glasses.

"I’m here." He whispers, giving a squeeze to Richie’s hand.

His heart swells at the feeling of Richie’s hand returning the squeeze, at the sight of a smile on his face despite the tears that drip on his cheeks.

"Come closer, you idiot."

"Why?"

"You have something on your face."

He draws his hand to Richie’s cheeks and wipes away the tears with his thumb, softly, gently. _Richie did the same when we were fighting it. He cupped my cheek and god the touch it made my skin burn in such a good way. I was just lit on fire by his hand like a goddamn match and it felt like Heaven If I could return the feeling to him, I’d do it without hesitation_

Richie catches his hand in his.

"Eddie, I- I gotta tell you something."

"What?"

"I fucked your mom."

Eddie chuckles and promptly stops, wincing because of the pain in his chest. Richie jolts, a worried look on his pale face.

"Asshole." Eddie says with a tender tone, frowning at Richie as if he were truly mad at him.

"Yeah well, two can play that game."

"Get your own material, Richard", Eddie mutters with a bright smile.

"This was my material, before _you_ stole it! The mom jokes are Richie Tozier’s property, and I’ll have your ass sued in court when you get outta here."

"Well, that’s not good material. Your jokes suck, Rich."

"That’s why you love’ em, Eddie Spaghetti", Richie replies with a waggle of his eyebrows. _Goddam teenager at fourty, he’s unbelievable._ Eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s an unmistakable little blush on his cheeks.

"So I just woke up and the most important thing you had to tell me was that you, and i quote, ‘fucked my mom’? Who’s been dead for several years, may I add."

Richie laughs, but he’s nervous, Eddie can tell. He can always tell how Richie is, under the humourous cover he likes to hide in.

"There’s um. There’s something else I wanted you to know, Eds."

"Rich, don’t call me Eds. You know I-"

Richie is kissing him before he can finish his sentence.

He’s bent over the hospital bed, still holding his hand despite everything. It’s not exactly the most beautiful kiss Eddie’s ever had, it’s not the typical movie kiss where characters almost eat each other’s mouths with noises that made Eddie extremely uncomfortable when Richie imitated them in the Clubhouse.

It’s desperate, and agressive, and questioning, but also incredibly soft in a way, tentative. Richie is telling the truth and asking a question at the same time.

Eddie thinks for a second about how to reply, and thinking’s not really the easiest thing when lips are on yours. So he follows his feelings. There are butterflies in his stomach, which is plummeting, and his chest hurts - from the wound, but also deep inside, his heart is fluttering - and his cheeks, his lips burn (that touch, again).

So he returns the kiss when the answer finally imposes itself in his mind: _You know I love you._

__

* * *

They leave Derry a Friday night, like they’ve always wanted to.

Before they do so, Richie takes Eddie to the kissing bridge. He shows him the letters he traced when he was 13. Explains what happened at the arcade, explains that some days after, he had realized it.

"It was you. It was always you, Eds."

For once, Eddie doesn’t tell him not to call him Eds. He’s absorbed in the sight of R + E, and he’s taking in every word Richie just pronounced. Yet he scolds him about ‘not knowing alphabetical order’. His voice is full of emotion though; he sounds like he’s about to cry.

He takes the knife and carves E + R, then he throws his inhaler over the bridge, as Richie watches, in awe.

"Why’d you do that?"

"I don’t know." Eddie replies, taking Richie’s hand in his.

But he knows well enough.

Maybe he trusts Richie with his life when he says that everything will be fine. Maybe it’s a first step to bury the ghost of an overbearing mom and a difficult past. He wants to run away with Richie, and this time, no one will prevent him from doing just that.

They leave Derry a Friday night, after having said goodbye to their friends, after promising to keep in touch. Somehow, it feels like they will, this time around. Ben pats Eddie’s arm, Bill smiles, his eyes crinkled in pure joy, Mike repeats he’s so happy for them, and Beverly rubs Richie’s shoulder. See, her eyes say, _nothing disgusting about loving him._ And for once, Richie agrees.

They leave Derry on a Friday night. Eddie’s things are already in the car, Richie insisted on carrying them all. _Don’t let him overexert himself,_ the doctor said privately to Richie, while teaching him how to change bandages, how to check for an infection, how to know when it’s time for his meds. _He won’t be able to work for some time and he’ll probably have a hard time with the nights at first. The surgery we performed was really intrusive, no sport for at least four months. Also, no sex the first two months._

Richie can’t believe a doctor from Derry’s hospital just told him that. Times are changing, it seems.

"Shall we, Eddie my love?" He opens the door of his car for him, a wide grin on his face.

"No, I just changed plans. I’m going back to New York."

Richie actually stops to study his face.

"I’m joking, Rich. And to think you’re the comedian!"

"And you the risk analyst. I think you’re taking quite a lot of risks by putting your life into my comedian hands."

Eddie doesn’t say anything back. He’s fumbling with the seatbelt so it doesn’t touch his chest. Richie lets him do it. He knows Eddie still wants to do some things his own way. He just grips the steeringwheel.

He still can’t grasp what is happening, especially after the various stages of grief and denial he’s been through during the days at the hospital, when they didn’t know if Eddie was going to pull through. Sometimes when he wakes up sweating from a vicious nightmare - Eddie dies in them, every time a different way - he has to convince himself that Eddie’s next to him, in his hospital bed, living and breathing and loving him. He’s just so afraid to wake up one day in an empty bed, his eyes still wet from crying in his sleep, because all of this would have been nothing more than a beautiful, cruel dream. And in reality, Eddie’s still in that dark cavern, afraid and alone, or in the hospital’s morgue because his tired heart stopped. _I’m so sorry Mr Tozier but there was nothing we could do he’s_

Eddie’s hand meets his on the steeringwheel. He always knows when Richie feels bad, without even having to talk about it, and Richie’s so grateful for it. Their fingers are intertwined.

The wind is ruffling their hair, the orange lights of the night give a soft peachy tone to their barely wrinkled faces. _Look at us,_ Richie thinks. _Fourty something and going on a roadtrip like teenagers, just like we always dreamt. Better late than never, uh._

Eddie puts on the radio as they go past Derry’s old Goodbye sign. It’s a love song, and he begins grumbling about how the song is silly and written for simpletons. Richie says nothing, for once. He basks in the sound of Eddie’s voice. He could listen to him bitching all night.

Eddie hasn’t let go of his hand. Since he woke up, it seems he hasn’t ever let go of Richie anyway.

"You sure about this, Rich? I mean, if you want to drop me off, here’s your chance."

"Some sense coming back to you, Spaghetti?"

"I’m serious, Richie. I’m kind of a burden, right now, I can’t work and I can’t do much. I don’t want to impose."

Richie still sees the worry that creases Eddie’s brow, despite the lights that illuminate his face. He’s begun breathing slightly harder, and keeps one hand on his chest. Richie rubs his thumb into Eddie’s hand.

"Remember what I told you about leaving this hell of a town? We do it together or we don’t."

Eddie lets a smile blossom on his lips. His freckles are visible in the soft orange light.

"Well, I guess tonight’s a pretty good night to leave Derry." 

* * *

Richie leaves the stage under a literal thunder of applause, and thinks _‘Well, that wasn’t so bad’,_ which is fairly new.

For years he’s been reciting jokes that had been written for him. For years he’s been feeling guilty of not being a true comedian, not feeling legitimate. But since he succeeded in convincing the executives to let him try his own show, going on stage has never felt so easy. No more ‘My girlfriend caught me masturbating to her friend’s pics’ jokes. No more lies. It’s Richie Tozier’s voices, Richie Tozier’s jokes.

But hey, he can’t take all the credit.

"See, I told you they’d like it."

The voice is warm. It feels like going home whenever Richie hears Eddie as he returns to the backstage.

He’s looking at him with something that oddly resembles pride. It makes Richie feel like a dumb teenager talking to his crush. Eddie’s skin smells of jasmin where Richie kisses him, on his neck, which makes him chuckle and push lightly Richie away, as if his kisses were tickling him. His stubble is probably a bit scratchy.

"Did _you_ like it?"

"Meh", Eddie says in false indifference. "Why don’t you ask Stan if he liked it?"

"You brought our baby to my show?!"

The Pomeranian immediately recognizes the voice of his other owner and jumps from the chair where he was settled, in the scent of Richie, yapping and barking happily. He does that a lot. Loves to sleep in places that smell of Eddie or Richie.

"Did you love Dad’s show? Oh yes you did. You’re such a good boy" Richie’s immediately smitten as he lifts the small dog in his arms.

"I think he’s telling you to rework the first joke", Eddie intervenes, a dumb grin plastered on his face, scratching Stan behind his ear, his favourite spot. He loves seeing Richie and Stan together. It gives him a feeling of being part of a true family.

"Oh no, Stan loves Dad’s jokes, ain’t that right baby?"

The Pomeranian yaps on cue, happy to have all the attention and caresses he’s been calmly waiting for from his two owners. Sure, he’s been given treats by the staff, but he’s often confused to why he can’t go on stage. Or why he’s not allowed to sleep on Dad’s chest; instead, he sleeps in his arms. Yet all these rules are forgotten once he sees both of his owners reunited and giving him all the love he wants, petting him and calling him a ‘good boy’.

"But for real, Rich, maybe you should rework the first joke. The rest was perfect, though."

"You really think that, Eddie Spaghetti?"

"I do, actually." Eddie replies, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. He adjusts Richie’s blue suit. He looks good in it, but Stan’s hair is already all over it again.

"Gosh, my husband thinks I’m funny. Mark this date, I think I should celebrate tonight!", Richie exclaims, laughing, Stan still in his arms.

"Would you have your husband join you on this celebration?"

Richie takes him in his arms, holding both Stan and Eddie.

"I’ll always have you, Eds."


End file.
